Dreams and Schemes
by spider pie
Summary: When Homer discovers Smithers’ secret, the Simpsons try to rebuild his relationship with Mr. Burns.
1. Revealed

_Note: Sadly, I do not own The Simpsons. _

* * *

There were times during the day when Waylon Smithers had nothing to do. His work was up-to-date, no one had to be fired and Mr. Burns wanted to be left alone.

_It's going to be another lonely lunch._ He thought as he opened a drawer in his desk to get his food. He pulled out a plain brown bag and set it in front of him. From it he retrieved a ham sandwich, an apple and a bottle of water.

_A simple, unassuming assortment of food. _He thought. _Damn, Waylon, don't you take any chances anymore? _He sighed quietly as he grabbed the sandwich and took a half-hearted bite. His mind trailed off as did his eyes, looking around the room until he gazed at the photo on his desk. It was the picture he wanted for so long and finally retrieved from his boss. It was Mr. Burns shaking Elvis' hand.

These free moments in his work schedule, though rare and lonely, had never been put to bad use.

Putting down his lunch for a second, Waylon leaned down until he reached the bottom drawer of his desk, the one with the lock. Taking out a small key, he opened the drawer and took out a stack of small papers, each one colored differently. Arranging them neatly on his desk, he took another bite, a small sip from his water bottle and then leafed through the pile.

Love letters. Every time Waylon was alone, he would write one to his beloved. Each one was practice, handled with the utmost care, delicately crafted to make sure that there would be no question about his feelings when his boss was finally sent one.

That is, if he ever got the courage to tell him.

Slightly in his dream world, he read each one, sighing with both love and sadness, guiltily thinking some far fetched fantasies. Unfortunately, he completely forgot to lock the door to the hallway.

"Mr. Smithers!" Waylon jolted in shock, causing the papers to go flying. "Mr. Smithers, you've got to come quick!"

Gabbing franticly at the letters, he looked up to see what idiot had barged straight into his office without permission.

_Homer Simpson._ He thought, angrily. _Figures…_

"What do you want, Simpson?" He quickly scooped up the papers and dumped them in the bottom drawer.

"Lenny and Carl are doing it again. They take all the donuts before I even get to the break room. And when I tell them to stop, they laugh and say that I need to loose the weight anyway."

Waylon looked at him incredulously. "You ran into my office, without knocking, during my lunchtime to tell me that?!" he yelled. "For God's sake, I'm not your mother, Simpson!"

Homer crossed his arms. "So you're not going to tell Carl and Lenny…"

"You better pray I don't tell Mr. Burns."

The intercom cut in.

"Smithers." Said a soft and sinister voice. "You seem to have given me a faulty knife. I can't cut into the roasted pheasant. Come in here at once and correct your error."

_Right on cue. _Thought Waylon. He pressed a button on the machine.

"I'll be right in, sir." He replied. Moving passed his desk to the conjoining door to Mr. Burns' office, he turned back to Homer.

"I hope that you have enough sense to not be here when I return." Waylon said in a tense voice. He opened the door and disappeared into the room beyond it.

Homer looked on for a second, seething. "Well, isn't that convenient." He began prancing about awkwardly.

"Oh, look at me. I'm Smithers, Mr. Burns' pet and I'll do anything he says. But noooooooo, I won't help poor Homer Simpson in his donut crisis, no matter how horrible it gets." He flailed his arms around comically to stress his point.

"Well, I'll show him!" Homer stomped over to the desk, obeying his dim and impulsive mind, thinking that he could get back at Waylon by destroying his lunch. Grabbing the sandwich, he was about to chuck it in the trash can when something pink caught his eye. He followed the color, looked slowly under the chair and spied a small, peach-tinted piece of paper. There was something written on it.

Smiling rather devilishly, he reached under and grabbed it, laughing a little.

_Maybe it has some company secret written on it._ He thought._ Oohoo, watch out. Homer Simpson, spy in disguise, comin' to shut you down._

Straightening up, Homer read it slowly. But what it revealed weren't the secrets that he had in mind.

The doorknob to the boss's office turned and let the entrance open.

"Are you sure you won't need me, sir?"

"Yes. You've cut the pheasant well enough. You may go." Mr. Burns then promptly stuffed his face with the roasted bird.

_I hate it when he doesn't need me._ Waylon thought painfully. He was about to walk to his desk when he saw the familiar back of the idiot who burst into his office minutes before.

"Simpson!" Waylon startled the man and he quickly turned around. "Why do you consistently think that… you….. can……" His voice faded from his mouth until it was left dry and empty. The blood quickly drained from his face and his breath was caught in his throat. Waylon recognized the letter in Homer's hand.

The chubby man stared blankly at his supervisor. Then back at the letter.

"Y'know," Homer said, waving the paper around slightly. "This explains so much."


	2. Repercussions

Note: Wow. I finally have the second chapter written. This is new for me. I don't have very good discipline when it comes to stories. I always get stuck on the 2 chapter. This is proof that the impossible is possible. ;) I hope all you readers enjoy.

Sadly, the Simpsons don't belong to me.

* * *

It was dark when, wearily, Homer walked through the front door of his house. Immediately, the smell of food graced his nostrils and his stomach growled.

"Oohh." He moaned. "Marge made pork chops." His words dragged sadly on the ground as did his feet.

"Dad!" said Lisa as she bounded into the room. "Dad, why are you so late? Mom had to put your dinner in the refrigerator."

"You mean your mother saved my food?" Homer gasped.

"Well, yeah. Of course she…"

"Whoohoo!" he jumped up with his fists in the air. Homer ripped off his tie and threw it on the floor.

"Honey! You hard-working, loving husband is home and he's pretty hungry." The large man ran past his wife and straight to his faithful companion, the fridge.

"Homer, what took you so long?" ask Marge, not the least surprised where her husband ran to. "You missed dinner."

"Correction: _Nearly_ missed dinner." Homer said with a smile, hugging the food in his arms.

"Well, I just think that I should know why you're late? I know you weren't putting in extra hours at the Plant. And you wouldn't miss supper in order to stay longer at Moe's. So what happened?"

Homer looked at Marge and opened his mouth to speak. But suddenly his mind trailed back to the reason why he was delayed.

* * *

_When Smithers finally found his bearings after seeing Homer with the letter, he lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. Homer was too stunned to struggle as Waylon dragged him through the hall into the bathroom. No one ever used it because of its vicinity to Mr. Burns. _

_With surprising strength, Waylon pushed Homer into the tiled wall. He held him there for a second, just staring threateningly at him. The balding man was, to say the least, freaked at the sudden change in Smithers' demeanor. His eyes were blazing with fury, mixed with some other more subtle emotions Homer couldn't pinpoint. They both breathed heavily and neither could form words, just staring in thick silence, shivering; one from fear, and the other from anger._

_Finally, Smithers let go, retreated a few steps and turned his back towards the other. Homer slumped to the floor in utter stock wondering in worry what this crazed man would do next. Through this stupor he felt something in his hands and realized that he still held the letter. It was now crumpled and wet from his sweat, but the words were still there, plain, simple and revealing. _

_With a thick gulp of worry, Homer tried to break the tension._

"_Um, Mr. Smithers? Are… are you alright?" A dangerous and short laugh answered him._

"_Alright? You're asking me if I'm __alright__?! Shouldn't you be appalled, disgusted and enraged? How dare you! You… you insufferable busybody!" Waylon turned back around and looked at him square in the face. "How __dare__ you!"_

_Homer tried to push himself further back into the wall but sadly it gave no leeway. The emotion radiating from his expression was suffocating for the Safety Inspector. Waylon's eyes were red and wet; his cheeks were flushed and Homer could tell he was very warm. The face of his supervisor revealed something that he did not usually see in a man, absolute emotional vulnerability._

_The sad part was Homer didn't exactly know why._

"_I… uh, um… I'm sorry?" he offered. _

_Waylon was shaking with incredulousness. "Sorry?"_

_"H… here's your little letter back." He lifted his arm and opened his hand. The pink note sat there like a torn paper rose. He held it out there for a moment while Waylon stared at his action before thinking against it and gingerly placing the paper on the floor._

"_It's like this never happened, ok? You take it back and we say nothing about it." Homer honestly just wanted to get out of that bathroom. He couldn't really think of why Waylon was acting like this. This secret wasn't surprising and truly not a big deal. Plus the anger and potential violence Smithers showed scared the chubby man._

_Waylon shook his head and then ran his right hand through his hair. He let out a shuttering sigh which sounded like something was stuck in his throat._

_"You… you stupid… man." He whispered thickly, so flustered that he was at a loss for words. But this simple accusation stirred some emotions within Homer himself._

_"Who are you calling stupid?" he challenged, his mood changing rapidly from fear to anger. Waylon looked at him sharply. _

_"You know __exactly__ of whom I speak." Before Homer could reply he moved briskly towards the man on the floor and knelt down. Waylon was now at eye level and placed his face so close that they touched noses._

_"You will keep you mouth shut! You will not breathe a single word about this to anyone. Do you understand?"_

_No. Homer did not understand. This didn't make any sense to him. Why would Smithers act this way? _

_He pressed his face back into Waylon's._

_"How are ya gonna make me? You called me stupid. I'm not stupid." _

_"You are stupid! You're an incompetent, fat, eavesdropper who can't keep his hands to himself. How am I going to make you? Well, I'm not Mr. Burns' assistant for nothing. I have my own ways for getting people fired. And just so you know how serious this is, you are going to say here and work late today."_

_Homer gasped in horror. He never stayed late at the plant to work. The sweat on his brow dripped down his cheek and dropped to the floor as he stared in disbelief at his supervisor. _

_"You... you can't do that! That's inhuman!" cried Homer. His hands went up to his mouth in a classic terrified position. Waylon backed away and stood up again, cocking an eyebrow at Homer's reaction. _

"_Nevertheless, you will stay. You will also come in on time every day this week. I want you to be a model employee of this powerplant, if only to teach you not to rummage through other people's desks. Do you understand?" Smithers' voice calmed down to a steady tone but even that sounded dangerous. Homer looked up at the imposing figure above him._

_"But I didn't..."_

_"Do you understand!?"_ _Homer sucked in a breath at the_ _demanding question and he knew there was only one answer that could get him out of that bathroom._

_"Yes, sir."_

* * *

"Homer? Homer! Hello?"

"Maybe he's catatonic, Mom. You should slap him across the face several times."

"Quiet, Bart."

Homer suddenly realized that he had a flashback and shook his head. The room came into focus and so did the disappointed face of his wife.

"Oh, hi Marge. What did you say?" he drew his mouth into a dumb smile as she sighed.

"Why are you late?" she accented the last word with a hint of anger. Worried, Homer looked away because he knew the answer would annoy her.

"Um, well, y'see, I... I can't tell you." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I was at the Plant but I can't tell you why." He didn't need to look at her face to know what she was feeling.

"You can't tell me." She repeated in a low voice. Marge walked around to where she could see her husbands face and crossed her arms. "Homer, I highly doubt that you were at the Plant because you never stay late at the Plant. Where ever you were, it must be part of another one of your crazy schemes and we don't have the money to bail you out of jail again. This has to stop! Tell me, where were you?"

Homer couldn't deal with this. He already went through a tough ordeal with Waylon. And now Marge is angry with him. He was tired, hungry and afraid that he would be fired. He needed to get her off his back .

"What, Marge? Aren't you supposed to trust your husband?" Marge expression changed into surprise. "I was at the Plant, ok? I... I had to work late. You said yourself we need more money." As soon as the words left his mouth he knew he just signed his death warrant. He held the pork chops tightly to his chest, waiting for the inevitable fury about to rain down on him.

Marge sighed heavily and put her hands to her hips. "Ok, fine. You want privacy, you got it. In fact you can _privately_ cook your own dinner and you can _privately_ sleep on the sofa tonight. I'll make sure that I won't _bother _you at all. But don't you try on eavesdropping on me. I want my own _privacy_. You got that, buster?"

Homer shrank under her attack. He looked at the floor and sudden thought that all this seemed a little familiar. He nodded in defeat.

"Yes, dear."


End file.
